Left
Light is lifting, trees
sidestepping, circling
a clearing, in the centre
an abandoned house,
bareheaded, on its
knees before an
oblivious sky.
Fire’s rough tongue
has melted glass,
flamed wood to smoke
leaving a husk of
scorched stone.
Now grass grows in
empty geometries,
insects sift detritus and
the wind that fanned
the fire mouths an
apologetic sigh.
by Jo Hemmant



















